Assistance was immediately called, and she soon opened her eyes, looked around, then closed them again. But that look was enough. We saw that reason had again assumed its empire. The wildness of the eyes was gone, and the mouth looked natural. Involuntarily Arthur and myself fell upon our knees. My heart was full of thankfulness, and I prayed; but he, burying his face in his hands, sobbed aloud. The noise roused Evelyn. She again opened her eyes, passed her hand across her brows, and then raising herself with an effort, said faintly, “Where am I—where have I been. Arthur! and you, too, Ellen! what does this mean; quick, some water! Oh, God! I am dying.”
Arthur sprung to his feet, and let her head droop upon his arm. She took his hand in hers, then motioning me nearer, grasped mine also; and for some moments did not move. She then looked in my face, and whispered, “I remember all, now; but Arthur—dear Arthur! I do not blame you. I hope you are happy—I soon will be. I feel that I am dying. Surely, Sarah would not grudge me the happiness I feel in breathing my last in your arms.”
“Oh, Evelyn!” cried Arthur, while his sobs almost choked his utterance, “you must not, you shall not die. You must live to forgive me, and let me make some reparation for the wrong I have done you. Speak to me, Eva! tell me that you will live.”
The poor girl made an effort to speak, but it was in vain—one grasp of the hand—a short sigh—and the pure spirit of Evelyn Grahame had fled to a brighter sphere.
Arthur Noel still lives, a poor, broken-hearted victim of remorse.
REALITY VERSUS ROMANCE,
OR THE YOUNG WIFE.
———